


The Dreamer

by Kummerspeck7



Category: Royal Pains
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Meetings, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 20:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kummerspeck7/pseuds/Kummerspeck7
Summary: The stars twinkled in his eyes and the sun itselfwarmed his smile. I knew I might burn, but I just had to inch a little closer…





	The Dreamer

The stars twinkled  
In his eyes  
and the sun itself  
warmed his smile.

I knew I might burn, 

but I  
just  
had to  
inch  
a little

closer…

-The Dreamer

I'd lived in the dark quite a long time, as long as I could remember. In our Niedersachsen estate, where I largely grew up, there was the requisite long corridor of family paintings. It was dim, lit only by a few irregularly scattered sconces. As nobility we displayed the family succession from the first noble- Baron Friedrich Kuester von der Sachsen, born in 1478 but whose likeness was painted in 1689-to my father. My cousins and I would walk the halls, make fun of the facial hair of times past. We would occasionally ask questions-Who were they, when did they live, what did they do- but even as children we knew there was one thing that was not spoken of. How they died. Even before we began schooling my cousins would look at me curiously. I was destined to have a painting on that wall, to be displayed with our relatives until time immemorial. They were not envious. I lived in the sepulchre of my family's legacy, a cruel irony.

For forty years I would want for nothing, for forty years I would have riches beyond compare, every whim and desire catered to. Then an unavoidable and grisly premature death.

I could give away the trappings of my name and title, donate my wealth. But I would still have the disease. You can't renounce who you are, your blood. I watched my Father suffer, wither, and die knowing all the while it was my future, my destiny. He seemed so big, so strong. I almost thought it might not take him. How could anything fell a man so mighty? Then his hands began to go numb, he started falling. He died in the bedroom beyond the hall of faces, I held his hand while his lungs stopped working, watched him suffocate while his confused and wild eyes looked right through me. I couldn't even grieve the loss of my father because I couldn't stop thinking that with him gone I was next. I would follow in Father's foot steps. I had so far- excelled at school, destined to become a banker. Before long I started noticing signs that I was becoming weaker. At twenty five my finger tips went numb and I dropped a pen in a meeting. At thirty I had my first fall. I became increasingly withdrawn, wondering how long passed between my father's early symptoms and his last gasping breath. 

But unlike my father, I wouldn't pass along my genetic curse. I forsook long term attachments, I was determined to be the last of my line. There was Marisa for a time, a terrible error. She was radiant, so full of verve and so sure she could save me. I loved her more than I'd thought was possible, I would have moved the Earth for her if she had so much as hinted it would make her smile. But my beloved Marisa only wanted a child, the one thing I could not, would not give her. I would meet my end quietly and alone. Formerly withdrawn, I became a hermit, a wraith looming within the halls of Shadow Pond. I didn't choose to live in darkness, but it was the responsible action. It suited me well enough. 

Of course I half heartedly continued to look for a cure, but I was entirely certain of my future. I worked and multiplied my money because it kept me occupied, it kept me from obsessing over how many more chimes I would hear from the grandfather clock or why my laps in the pool took longer this month than they had last month. 

Then Hank arrived. Hank with his infernal optimism. He saved the life of a girl in front of me, a girl anyone else would have thoughtlessly killed. But he didn't see a party girl having an overdose, he saw a young woman in trouble. He fought with me, unimpressed by my riches or title or stature. For the first time in recent memory I felt something good, an emotion not made ugly by the wry darkness living inside me. Impetuously I offered him a place to live.

Being near him was like standing in the sun. He was smart, stubborn, and deeply caring with a dry wit that pleased me. Then he left, and the darkness began to close in once more. I sent a butler to put a gold bar in his car. I knew the money wouldn't persuade him, I would be disappointed if it did. But he did seem to love medicine, and perhaps that was information I could use.

&-&-&

“Is that vacancy still available?” A voice asks from the doorway.

It's him, Hank is back. It pleases me greatly to have him near again, even if he is here primarily because of an attachment to Jill Casey. “Your timing is impeccable.”

“Your offer is exceedingly generous, thank you.” His voice is warm and sincere.

He doesn't insult me by offering money, as most people would have. His smile is almost dazzling in the sunlight as it streams through the pergola. I'm smiling back at him and I can't hide my enthusiasm. Nor would I want to, talking to him is like breathing the air at the summit of a mountain after a long and difficult climb.

“I require a personal physician.” I inform him.

In time he will figure out that something is wrong, he'll see the occasional stiffness in my gait, notice the passing numbness in my hands. He is a truly remarkable doctor. It's a shame no doctor can save me.

Guilt twists inside me for a moment. I know I should stop this. I shouldn't lean on this doctor, shouldn't bring this doctor into my world. I shouldn't hurt him with my decline, shouldn't put my death on his hands-No matter what I say, he will always see it as his failing. A better man would send him away. Protect him and his faith in the greater good. He's clearly someone who emotionally invests in his patients, he won't accept my demise as inevitable.

But I can't.

I need him, I need this, I need to feel the sun on my face. I need to be selfish, I need just some of his optimism as the end draws near. He's had patients die. I can just be one more. 

And I won't repeat the mistakes of my past. When I develop feelings for him as I did with Marisa, I'll make certain he never knows. In the evenings he'll enjoy dinner with his brother on the patio and I'll watch from my window, desperately trying not to think of how things could be different, how I could love him if I weren't dying. I'll protect him from myself, I'll ensure the rest of his life is easy once I'm a footnote on his resume and another carcass interred in the family crypt.

He takes one of my hands in his. They're surprisingly soft, pleasantly warm. I understand how Icarus met his end, our lips are twelve inches apart and I want desperately to touch the sun, to reach out and cling to happiness. 

But I won't. In this I will be strong, even as my strength is stolen from me. I'll see him just enough to make it through to the end. I won't leave someone mourning me, that decision has long been final. Abruptly I move away. He accepts the job. He leaves.

And once again I am alone in my sepulchre. Only now everything is different.

Except that I'm still dying.


End file.
